


The Dowager Duchess Visits Piccadilly

by teachair (halavana1)



Series: Wimsey between stories fanfics [2]
Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halavana1/pseuds/teachair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few weeks after Bunter moves Lord Peter to the Piccadilly flat, the Dowager Duchess drops by for a visit</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dowager Duchess Visits Piccadilly

The Dowager Duchess paid a visit to her son’s Piccadilly flat with the goal of seeing to Bunter’s wages. As usual, he stepped aside at once to allow her entrance and offered her tea. She said she didn’t care for anything at the moment, but wanted to discuss certain matters with him. With a perfectly differential greeting, he leaned toward her listening.  
“What have you been doing for funds?” she asked.  
Bunter paused briefly, then said, “His lordship signs cheques as needed, your Grace. Here is the account book,” he moved to a writing desk and withdrew the book from a drawer, holding it in his hands until she should signal for it. When she did not, he continued, “We have made several investments which are beginning to show some increase. The Honorable Freddie Arbuthnot has offered some very astute advice on the matter…”  
“That’s all very nice, Bunter. I was asking about you. Has Peter settled on your wages?”  
“We’ve not discussed it, your Grace,” replied Bunter, blank faced. “His lordship is not yet willing to make decisions about so much as the breakfast menu.”  
“I see. Well, until Peter comes around to life again, we’d best settle your wages for the time being. Would £10 a month cover your personal expenses?”  
Bunter gaped briefly, but recovered himself quickly and bowed slightly toward the Dowager Duchess. “£10 would be most generous, your Grace.”  
“Nonsense! Generous?! It’s a pittance. For all you’ve done to help Peter, it’s miserly, but it will start. Here you go.” She handed him an envelope. “It’s small bills and coins, but when a servant is found to have large bills, he or she is too often accused of stealing it.”  
“Thank you for the consideration, your Grace.”  
“You’re most welcome. Now, tell me about Peter.”  
“I have endeavored, your Grace, to arrange activities which may draw his interest. We have a regular horse ride, as many days a week as his lordship can manage. Through some of my acquaintance, we have arranged weekly exercises in jujitsu and fencing.”  
“And has he taken to his exercise?”  
“His lordship follows me, your Grace.”  
“Hmm. Well, that’s a start. Does he enjoy himself?”  
“That’s very hard to say, your Grace. He enjoys the ride, but defers to me in choosing the path. Fencing comes easily to him. He has had lessons before?”  
“He has,” nodded the Dowager Duchess.  
“Clearly he remembers. Jujitsu is a challenge. He follows me in the exercises, but refuses to take part in the training. We have not yet discovered the means of convincing him to participate.”  
“Well, maybe in time. How is he sleeping?”  
“Not well, your Grace. Might I persuade you into accepting a cup of tea, or coffee? His lordship had a rather trying time last night. The hearing may be less unpleasant with a little sustenance.”  
“Oh, very well Bunter. Tea will do. Make some for yourself as well. We can sit at table and form a battle plan, if you will.”  
Bunter nodded and went into the kitchen. The Dowager Duchess looked around the sitting room, murmuring. “Excellent! Mind if I look around the place? You’ve done a remarkable job with the decorating.”  
Bunter came to the door of the kitchen. “I thank your Grace. I advised the decorator your Grace recommended to begin with his lordship’s rooms at Duke’s Denver. We may modify it in future, but for now it seems just the thing.”  
“His dreams?”  
Bunter’s face clouded as the Duchess followed him into the kitchen. “Perhaps your Grace would prefer to relax in the sitting room?”  
“No, thank you, Bunter. I’d prefer to spend my time visiting with you, if I may, while I may. Gracious! You keep a tidy kitchen!”  
“Thank you, your Grace.”  
“His dreams,” the Duchess repeated.  
Bunter began preparations for tea: lit the fire, put the kettle on and indicated a selection of teas in tins. The Duchess chose one she said would do nicely, took the tin off the shelf, set it on the kitchen table and sat in one of the chairs.  
“Your Grace, perhaps it would be best…”  
“Bunter, I wish to visit with you about my son. I understand the proprieties as you’ve learned them, no doubt from Sir John, may he rest in peace, but when we speak of my son’s well being, the proprieties can go to hell.”  
“As you wish, your Grace,” came the unperturbed reply.  
“Now, get your tea, sit down and tell me about Peter’s dreams.”  
“The water is not yet hot, your Grace.”  
“Then we’ll wait for it. Tell me.”  
“He frequently speaks in German, which I only understand conversationally, and it seems to be related to his work outside our brigade. He frequently asks to be let out of somewhere, in varying degrees of importunity. He often speaks to men who were sent to their death in various battles and intelligence operations. He apologizes to them, but they don’t seem to accept his contrition. Sometimes he speaks French, which…” The kettle began to whistle and Bunter rose to tend to it. “...I also understand imperfectly, but find it easier than German, having been more exposed to it. He talks about codes and troop movements and things he is not supposed to know,” Bunter continued as he brewed the tea and brought out a selection of tea cakes. The Duchess chose one and ate it delicately, smiling and nodding. Bunter continued describing her son’s behavior when a hoarse whisper came from Lord Peter’s room.  
“Sergeant?!”  
Bunter froze, met the eyes of the Duchess and quickly went to see what was the problem.  
“Yes Major?”  
“Where are we?”  
“In a safe house, major.”  
“I heard a woman’s voice…”  
“Yes sir. A benefactress. No need to fear her, sir.”  
“You’re sure of that?”  
“Yes sir, quite sure. Sure as can be.”  
“Safe house, you say?”  
“The safest, sir.”  
“Very well. I’ll get back to cracking that code.”  
“Yes sir. A good plan, sir.”  
Suddenly, Wimsey turned on Bunter and hurled himself at him, but Bunter caught him in his arms, slowly giving way toward the sitting room, not willing that Wimsey should feel restrained, but determined that he should do no injury to himself, or to anyone else.  
“No need of that, major,” said Bunter in a tight voice. “We are quite safe.”  
Wimsey began to struggle wildly, but Bunter met each shift deftly and gently, repeating, “Major, we’re safe. There’s no one to fear here.”  
Presently Lord Peter calmed himself sufficiently for Bunter to help him to a chair. “Bunter, what have I been saying?” he asked.  
“Something about cracking a code, my lord.”  
“I heard a woman’s voice.”  
“That would be the Dowager Duchess, your lordship’s mother.”  
“She’s here?!”  
“Yes, my lord.”  
“Where?”  
“In the kitchen, my lord, drinking tea.”  
“In the kitchen?! My mother?!”  
“Peter, my boy! So delighted to see you awake. Yes, I’m afraid I insisted that Bunter and I have tea in the kitchen so as not to disturb you…”  
“I heard a whistle…”  
“The kettle, my lord,” said Bunter.  
“Yes,” added the Duchess. “That was the whistle you heard.”  
“I’m so bloody tired,” said Lord Peter. “For a moment there I thought... I was somewhere else.”  
“Allow me to help you to your room, my lord,” said Bunter, offering his arm.  
Wimsey nodded and accepted the proffered arm, allowing himself to be put to bed by mother and manservant. Bunter dosed him with bromide and once the drug had taken effect, he sat in a bedside chair and closed his eyes, breathing a deep sigh. The Duchess took another chair and watched her son sleep, and Bunter by turns. Presently she touched Bunter on the sleeve and motioned him out, guiding him to the kitchen and their unfinished tea. She sat him down and waited until he had a sip before seating herself and drinking.  
“Now, Bunter. Tell me everything. What you know, what you suspect, everything. Has Helen, his sister-in-law been here?”  
“No, your Grace. I have not informed her of our current location.”  
“Good. That’s wise. Under no circumstances is Helen to be allowed here. Understood?”  
“Perfectly, your Grace. Thank you.”  
“You can tell her I said so. Now tell me about my son. And none of your usual circumnavigation.”  
“Circumlocution, your Grace?”  
“Yes, thank you Bunter. That’s the word. Speak plainly. Perhaps it amuses Peter, but it will only annoy me.”  
“I’ll do my best, your Grace.”  
“As you have done. That’s all I can ask.”  
Bunter nodded his further thanks and launched into a more detailed account of all he had not told the duchess before. Two hours later, he walked her to the door. She was about to go out, turned, placed a hand on the manservant’s cheek, kissed his opposite cheek, patted his jaw and departed. Bunter stood in the open doorway, looking after her, an unreadable expression on his face, which was his first line of defense against shock. Presently he closed the door and leaned his head against it.  
“Ah, your Grace. To blazes with propriety,” he murmured and returned to Lord Peter’s bedside to await his awakening.


End file.
